It started with a hot fudge sundae. That’s when I lost the reins, when self-control became unbridled …
“I tried to save you from yourself,” he said with a knowing glance in my direction.
Smug, I thought. How soon he forgets his own weaknesses.
“I’d like to ding your ear,” I said, gesturing jokingly (but a little too closely).
Fortunately, it was a slight ding, and he laughed and I laughed.
He had pineapple and stared disbelievingly at my hot fudge.
“What are you doing having hot fudge?” he asked accusingly.
“What?” I laughed back, dipping my spoon into the thick brown sauce.
“You know what!” he demanded, half joking, half serious.
“I like hot fudge,” I defended, laughing.
“All those years, we had pineapple … because mom said ‘It’s better for you,’ and here you are eating that!”
“Pineapple’s all sugar,” I laughed.
“And, that’s not?” he teased.
We laughed and teased, and I dipped some of my chocolate out and deposited it, in dump-truck fashion, onto his pineapple sundae.
“No! Yuck …”
“Yuck? I thought you said you wanted hot fudge?”
“Not with pineapple!”
People turned, smiling at our conversation, trying to mind their own business. It was a good day, but somehow the day slipped from my hands and flitted away like a butterfly. It was a day I determined to remember forever.
The same day, a week before, was a day to forget; oh, how I wish I could ... The doctor had looked way too serious … almost apologetic. His face gave it away. His words hit somewhere in my mid-section and my knees buckled. I stood behind my brother, one hand on his shoulder and one on the smooth black leather chair that sat empty beside him.
I slid my hand slowly along the arm, for support, and let it guide me like a seeing-eye dog. I lowered myself and felt it cradle me as I stared somewhere past the doctor’s sympathetic face.
I breathed in slowly and exhaled with determination. Then I allowed a glance at my brother’s face. It was ashen. I reached over and our hands found each other. That was a week ago.
Now it was just the two of us.
“I have no son,” my father said blankly.
“Your only son is dying,” I told him, but he had busied himself and wouldn’t look at me.
I walked away knowing it would be John and I. He needed me now. Everything else would have to wait. It was as if the world had stopped turning on its axis. Stars had grown dimmer. Flowers slumped and their colours faded. Laughter sounded alien, like an invasion, something that didn’t belong here now.
And it was John and I … and pills … lots of them.
Mom was gone; had been for years. She would have known what to do. She wouldn’t have deserted John, or me.
“Julie …”
“John?” The voice from John’s room was a half-whisper … weak, and John was shaking. His thick blonde hair was curled and wet; his face, too hot.
“I’m f-f-freezing …”
“John, you’re so hot!” I gave him his pills and held cool cloths on his forehead. His blue eyes seemed to regain their focus and calm, and he stopped shaking. His temperature went down … 102. We had made it through another night.
“I love you, Julie,” he whispered thankfully.
“I know,” I whispered back. “I’m here.”
The next morning, he was waiting, smiling, looking so much better, and hungry. I was thankful to have another day with John.
Days came and went with the fevers, and John grew weaker. I watched the strength slowly draining from him. We both knew … but we never talked about it.
Instead, we talked about sundaes … about chocolate sauce and pineapple …
I held him and stroked his blonde hair. I sang softly.
“I am going to miss you so much,” I breathed into his hair.
“I know you are,” he murmured back.
“It will be OK,” I assured him.
“I know,” he managed before falling asleep in my arms.
The next day, the sun rose but John didn’t awaken. I will never forget that day … how peaceful he looked. He could rest, at last. His struggle was over. Mine wasn’t. But, the sun would continue to rise and I noticed, as the days went by, that the flowers seemed to regain some of their former colour, and the stars seemed not so distant, and brighter, and I realized I was smiling when someone laughed. Life felt solid again, more controlled.
A year has passed now, and every now and then I let go of the reins, just a little … and sometimes I have a little chocolate sauce … and remember …